


Come Out And Play

by le_chat_vilain



Series: The Joker and the Thief [23]
Category: Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Action, Death, Guns, Murder, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 03:33:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5952166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/le_chat_vilain/pseuds/le_chat_vilain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jay has a blast running a little interference for Blaire and the Sirens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Out And Play

**Author's Note:**

> [TRIGGER WARNINGS: gratuitous violence, death, murder, coarse language] I don’t think I’ve had this much fun writing a chapter in a very, very long time! I just let him let loose and it was so so so much fun to write. I also have this head canon that he really, really hates hipsters with the burning fire of a thousand suns, so I just had to write it in somewhere! 
> 
> Musical inspiration is Come Out And Play by The Offspring.

The best part about my plan is that I get to have all the fun, that’s the main perk of being the one who makes the plan.

I told Blaire I knew exactly where I was gonna go to stir up some trouble and lure old Batsy out to come and play, but truth be told I figured I’d just pick something depending on my mood. That’s the beauty of doing this on a Saturday night, I’m spoilt for choice. The Waynetech warehouse is in the industrial park not far from Port Adams, downtown on the lower east side, so as long as I keep the fight uptown it doesn’t really matter what I do. Hell, I might hit a couple of places just because I can! The night is young and full of unwitting idiots just waiting for me to fuck their shit up. Who knows what could happen!

Some young up and coming fashion designer has decided to hold a show launching his new line in the Bowery. What a fucking idiot. Honestly, hipsters are so ridiculously stupid and arrogant. Thinking that they can just breeze into a dodgy neighbourhood with their almond milk, fair trade, vegan bullshit, and gentrify the fuck out of it, expecting it to actually change the moral fibre of the degenerates that live there overnight. Yeah, good luck with that, assholes.

I fucking hate hipsters. Pretentious fucks.

All I have to do is follow the flashing lights. Knowing what those four are like, I’ve probably got half an hour to get this going before they’re even thinking about leaving, so I’m gonna go for the theatrical approach. Taking a page from my sweetheart’s book, I don’t go bursting in the front door this time – I sneak around the back to the tradesman’s entrance. I walk right into the clusterfuck of power tripping control freaks with clip boards, half naked models, and noxious clouds of hairspray and aerosol body paint that make up the backstage chaos of a high end fashion show. Everyone’s so wrapped up in the pandemonium that’s already going down, that they don’t even notice me go over to a rack and take a huge, ridiculous fucking cloak made of red flannel and suede. The hood on the thing is big enough to smuggle a whole damn family of Mexicans over the border, it’s fucking absurd. I put it on and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror; I look like a fucking Sith lord on my way to a Nirvana show.

I slot myself into the line up ready to hit the runway. These models are all so coked up and in the zone they don’t even notice that I’m not supposed to be there, it’s fucking brilliant. I do my best Zoolander all the way to the end of the catwalk, keeping my head down and hidden under the hood. When I reach the end I pause until the model behind me pulls up next to me to strike a pose, and I waste no time drawing my pistol and shooting her in the temple, spraying her brains all over some rich shit stain in the front row wearing a white fur coat. That’s when I lift my head and shrug off the cloak with a smile.

The show comes to a grinding halt. The DJ stops, people start screaming, you know, the usual; the best kind of applause a guy could ever ask for really.

“Good evening you devilishly stylish fucks!” I open with, bowing at them, crowbar and gun in hand. “I’d say that I’m sorry to have to hijack your night like this, but I ain’t the kinda guy who really likes to lie to people, so…ya know. I do need one thing from you though, if you would all be so kind. Who’s responsible for this…fabric massacre masquerading as fashion, hmm?”

They all look around nervously, not a single one of them with the kahones to either come forward or push the bastard out who I’m looking for. Looks like I get to do things the fun way.

“No? Nobody? Do you mean to tell me that the asshole who made whatever the fuck this is,” I hold up the hideous cape, “doesn’t even have the courtesy to be here to watch you all get visually raped by his so called ‘designs’? Wow, you guys should be so offended! I would be. In fact, I’m offended for you!”

Without turning around, I fire blindly behind me into the huddle of models at the other end of the runway, and judging by the screams that ensue I must’ve hit something.

“And when I get offended…well…I don’t know if you guys have noticed this about me, but I kinda lose my temper a little and lash out…then it just gets exponentially worse over time…” I fire again, and they’re all either too stupid or too blitzed to move so I hear another one drop. “So if anyone wants to come forward and you know, help me with my anger management, feel free to do so, or we’re gonna probably have quite the mess to clean up in a few minutes…No? Still nothing? Really? Wow, okay then…”

I go to do it again when a woman in the crowd pushes the designer forward.

“Here he is! Here! Take him! Please just stop!” she begs me with tears in her wide brown eyes.

“Why thank you…uhh, well this is awkward, you know me but I don’t know you at all! What’s your name?”

“V-v-veronica.” She stutters.

“Well thank you, V-v-veronica!” I bob down to look at her like she’s a child with my hands resting on my knees and the most patronizing smile I can muster. “Thank you for being so cooperative in throwing your buddy here under the bus! Go you! Here, have a little something for your trouble, just from me to you…”

Quick as a flash I bop her straight between the eyes while I shake my head, and she hits the floor like a sack of potatoes.

“I really hate traitors, V-v-veronica.” I straighten up again. “Did you all know that, that I hate traitors? Well, you do now. Just a little fun factoid for you there…”

I drag this disgustingly hipster prick up on the stage with me by his equally as disgusting corduroy collar, and hug him to me like an old pal. Everything about him is just so absurd, from his lemon scented beard wax down to his very name: Ethan Sage.

“Ethan Sage, the man of the fucking hour! Tell me, Ethan, you got your phone on you there, pal?” He nods nervously, and pulls out his iPhone. Because of course it’s a fucking iPhone. “Good! Good. Okay, now what you’re gonna do, is you’re gonna call the old Commish, and you’re gonna tell him to light up that big fancy night light of his, and get my man Batsy here for me pronto. Can you do that for me, Ethan?”

He nods and starts dialing and we wait. He stutters through all the operators until he gets Gordon on the line, and begs him to save his ass and send Batman.

“There, I did as you asked, now please just let these people go!” he begs me, trying to be as manly as his beard might suggest he is.

“Oh, well, since you said please, here let me just…” I sass him, before giving his neck a quick twist. “Oops. Sorry, look at that…my hands slipped!”

This is the part where things get a little dangerous for me, you see, I know Bats won’t kill me, but I can’t rule out that some GCPD punk with a pistol and the right amount of blind ambition wont try and ice me with one of those X rounds, so I need to get out of here somewhere he can find me but they won’t be able to get to me first. I loathe the thought, but I’m gonna have to leave most of these people alive; I need plenty of witnesses, distractions, and delays. Not to mention one of those rounds so much as grazes me and I’m done for.

I can hear the sirens approaching and I know it’s my turn to make an exit.

“Well, ladies and gents, it’s been a real gas, but I’ve gotta date with tall, dark, and clearly psychologically damaged, and lucky for you I do ever so hate being late.”

Borrowing another trick from Blaire, I drop a smoke pellet and get the fuck out of dodge before the boys in blue can catch me. I bolt out the back door, decking a few stragglers on my way for fun, and swing myself through the window of my car and start the engine.

Then I wait.

As I see the red and blue start to flash, the thud of a man sized bat hitting the roof of my car is all the encouragement I need to put pedal to metal and drive.

“Evening, Bats!” I shout up at him, hanging my head out the window with a grin. He takes a swing at me and I duck back in just in time with a cackle. “Whoa! Someone’s frisky tonight! Let’s go for a little drive, shall we?”

I swerve and speed through the streets, going in no particular direction at all until I hear from Blaire. On the first prank I’ll know they’ve taken care of the warehouse. On the second, I’ll know she’s at Arkham and I need to head in that direction. The third? Well that means it’s time to pull the trigger on this whole shebang.

Bats is trying to get me out of the car and I have to keep beating him off with the crowbar.

“Patience, dear, we’ll play soon!”

Then my phone rings. The warehouse is taken care of. The way that Blaire rides, I’ve got about twenty minutes to get us to Arkham.


End file.
